


here was the thing

by Anonymous



Series: why should any one be frightened by a hat [1]
Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: (Please note that bjyx is included but is background in this fic), Gen, M/M, POV Outsider, Vent fic for 1007 ZIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Here was the thing: as different as their lives were, to him Wang Yibo was just like them—a racing fanatic who went on the track with clear eyes and an even clearer heart, who respected and loved the sport, and who could talk about Valentino Rossi’s many achievements down to the exact date but forget his age.Even without Coach Li requesting it of him, Li Zong wouldn’t have been able to help himself from looking out for this earnest young man who was, in actuality, a total and complete nerd..Racing, Wang Yibo, and Zhuhai International Circuit 2020, as seen through the eyes of Li Zong, No. 777.Li Zong + Wang Yibo gen, background Wang Yibo/Xiao Zhan.
Relationships: Li Zong & Wang Yibo, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean
Series: why should any one be frightened by a hat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083743
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103
Collections: Anonymous





	here was the thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a vent fic for what happened at ZIC 2020.  
> I hope it can bring some catharsis, but please do not read if you feel it will only make you more upset. 
> 
> My understanding of Li Zong was informed through his Weibo and the videos of him and Wang Yibo working as a team on the track. However, this is still a fictional portrayal and might have glaring inaccuracies.

Li Zong was not the type to get angry. 

His friends called him mild and nerdy, which were just alternative ways to say socially awkward. Li Zong didn’t mind, since it was the truth: his mother bemoaned the fact that his Weibo consisted entirely of racetrack and racing photos and, if she were lucky, the occasional nine-squared post of his dog. The time he made a post wishing Wang Yibo happy birthday was the one time his Weibo exploded with notifications, and even then he was only mildly alarmed. 

_“Your fans are intense,”_ he commented in the group chat he had with Wang Yibo and Yin Zheng. 

Yin Zheng sent a string of laughing emojis. Wang Yibo sent a meme of his co-star on _The Untamed_ covering his face in embarrassment. 

_“Sorry, Zong-ge,”_ he added two seconds later. Then, _“We do look damn cool in that photo.”_ It was followed by a string of motorcycle emojis. 

Honestly, most days he forgot the youngest in their team was an insanely popular celebrity, especially when he sent memes and Valentino Rossi facts like a gleeful child. 

So this was Li Zong’s life: calm, quiet, full of excitement only when it came to racing, and even then it was a tempered excitement. It was a sport after all, with its own set of rules. When the race was over, life resumed its normal tempo. 

Wang Yibo’s life was clearly different. Perhaps being on the race track was the calmest his life could get. 

Li Zong had known Yin Zheng longer and knew that the man’s life as a celebrity was busy, but Wang Yibo was somehow _everywhere_ at once, hosting and dancing and singing and acting and being a brand ambassador for cars and potato chips. While Li Zong’s mother made distressed sounds every Lunar New Year he went home without a partner, Wang Yibo was finding time to date his former co-star ( _secretly_ , Yin Zheng had said with a wink). 

(Li Zong had met Xiao Zhan exactly once, when the stars aligned and he managed to pop by the race track. Wang Yibo introduced him to the team as though they lived under a rock and didn’t know who Xiao Zhan was. Judging by the way Xiao Zhan looked at Wang Yibo with a warmth entirely different from his smiles on screen and how Wang Yibo looked back like he hung the moon and the sun and the stars—well, Li Zong wasn’t sure if the definition of “secret” had changed while he was unaware.

He ended up trading photos of his dog for Xiao Zhan’s photos of his cat. It was a good, pleasant, calm day. Wang Yibo bested his personal record on the track. Coach Li was pleased.)

Here was the thing: as different as their lives were, to him Wang Yibo was just like them—a racing fanatic who went on the track with clear eyes and an even clearer heart, who respected and loved the sport, and who could talk about Valentino Rossi’s many achievements down to the exact date but forget his age. 

Even without Coach Li requesting it of him, Li Zong wouldn’t have been able to help himself from looking out for this earnest young man who was, in actuality, a total and complete nerd. 

Wang Yibo touched down in Zhuhai just two days before the event, after the longest dance competition final in the history of dance competitions. There was no indication he had less than his 100% to give when he arrived at the track. Yin Zheng whooped and slung his arm around his shoulders. Coach Li forced him to sit and drink water before Wang Yibo could try to make his way to his motorcycle. 

Li Zong placed a hand on Wang Yibo’s shoulder, feeling him almost vibrating out of his skin to get on the track, reminiscent of when Li Zong first encountered the magic that was motorcycle racing. 

“You sure you’re good to go?” 

“Yeah,” Wang Yibo said. “Let’s do this, Zong-ge.” 

Li Zong recognised in Wang Yibo’s eyes the fiery determination to make this another race to remember, to record another personal best. How could he not? It was the look every racer who put their heart into the sport had. 

They exchanged fist bumps and got onto the track. 

Over the days of training in unpredictable weather, they fell into a rhythm. Being in the same group for the race, Coach Li wanted them to work as a team, which suited them fine. After the strategy was decided, the rest was down to pure hard work. Each time they went out onto the track, after two rounds for them to get their footing, Li Zong would slow down, pulling into place next to Wang Yibo and gesturing for him to follow. Showing Wang Yibo how much to brake, when to turn, when he could afford to speed up, was work as fulfilling as it was grounding. Swapping places for the next round to follow behind Wang Yibo, watching him apply what he had learnt while Li Zong kept competitors from taking advantage of the reduced air resistance behind Wang Yibo, was equally satisfying, akin to watching a seedling burst into bloom. 

They listened to Coach Li and checked their motorcycles and ate and slept and woke up to do it all over again. Wang Yibo waved in the background for one of the pre-competition racing videos Li Zong did (awkwardly explaining the effect of rainy weather on racing, a subject that was of no interest to anyone outside of the racing circle), and his Weibo had an explosion of notifications again. 

Fans began to gather. Team Yamaha made a post telling fans not to go near the race track for their safety. They exchanged polite nods and greetings with other teams (Li Zong noted, in a matter-of-fact way, that they were being sized up as the main competition). The cameramen focused intensely on their team even when they were just standing there breathing. Wang Yibo was unruffled by it all, studying Coach Li’s records of his timings and scrutinising videos of his turns, looking vaguely flummoxed when the Monster energy drink ladies arrived and stood around holding umbrellas and cans of the drink. Yin Zheng snapped a picture of Wang Yibo’s expression to send to Xiao Zhan. 

All in all, a normal start to the controlled chaos of a race. 

By the time the excitement reached a fever pitch on the seventh, looking behind him and finding Tracer 85 on the track was instinct to Li Zong. Wang Yibo had bested his own record with every practice session and in the qualifying round as well, placing them in steady first and second for their group. Li Zong didn’t bother tamping down his pride in his teammate. 

“How do you feel?” Li Zong asked, when they had relinquished their bikes to the maintenance team. They had five seconds before the cameras descended on Wang Yibo. 

“Like I can do better,” Wang Yibo said, muffled through the helmet. 

Li Zong smiled. He pointed at the board that showed the ranking and timings. “You’re already doing well,” he said.

Wang Yibo was engulfed in cameras and microphones before he could respond. 

The actual race began steady, their pre-race rituals (Li Zong: breathing deeply and slowly; Wang Yibo: listening to music and fiddling with his necklace) having gotten them into the zone where they were focused but not anxious. Among a group of racers raring to go, Wang Yibo nodded to Li Zong and flicked the visor on his helmet down. 

The world narrowed to the hum of engines and the tension as everyone watched the traffic light. In the distance, it was the faint hum of the media and fans waiting, breathless and silent. 

The light turned green, and they shot off ahead of the pack.

The roar of the engine was muffled through the earplugs, the bike carrying him well through the turns. It was all familiar: the thrum of tempered excitement, the calm of focusing on the track, the instinct of turning to see Tracer 85 and knowing, without even seeing the timer, that he was doing well. Zhuhai's track welcomed their every turn, a friend by now. 

It was all going as expected. 

It was all going as they had practised and sweated for. 

It was all going well.

Until it wasn’t. 

Later, in the aftermath, when things could be clearly seen on the screen and Li Zong reached the only possible conclusion, he would find himself shaking, vile words barely held behind clenched teeth. 

But here, now, this was what he knew:

In the last round, when by all rights Wang Yibo should be behind him, following Li Zong’s lead to try and best his own timing—Li Zong turned by instinct and Wang Yibo wasn’t there. 

What was there, already a growing distance behind, was a familiar green-and-black bike lying on the side of the track. And not far from it Wang Yibo was standing on the grass, looking suddenly and terrifyingly lost. 

Here, now, this was what Li Zong saw when he glanced forward: 

There was number 18, bumping fists with his teammate, like they had already achieved victory, and— 

For the first time in a race, not for strategy or team plays—Li Zong slowed down. 

He turned once more, bile rising up his throat. There Wang Yibo was on the grass, not on the track where the brilliant Tracer 85 belonged. There he was, trying to start his bike and, in the end, kicking the ground in a moment of untempered frustration. 

And here Li Zong was, alone on the track, ranked first, without the teammate he always bumped fists with in satisfaction at a race well run. 

Li Zong arrived back at the holding area to uncontrolled chaos. Yin Zheng’s fists were clenched, the man clearly a step away from yelling. Coach Li had the most thunderous expression Li Zong had ever seen from the steady man. The sobs of the fans were audible. Cameramen were swarming around, waiting, waiting, for the very second Wang Yibo arrived back. 

Here was the thing: Li Zong wasn’t the type to get angry. 

And here was the thing: here, now, for the first time he could remember—Li Zong was _furious_. 

**Author's Note:**

> You're brilliant and well-loved, Wang Yibo. Continue being the champ that you are.


End file.
